Hope and Ruin
by AcrossTheSkyInStars
Summary: Written for the Countdown to 2012. When the world crumbles in the wake of infection in the year 2027, Bella finds herself struggling for survival. Zombie-esque fic. Canon couples. BPOV
1. November 26th

A/N: I've found I have a serious problem writing for contests and other fun little writing challenges when I'm stuck with my WIPs. So...here's another one from me. This was written a while ago for the Countdown to 2012, posted on Breath-of-twilight's profile. If you would like to read some of the AWESOME entries for this writing challenge, feel free to check out her page :)

Thanks so, so much to my beta, Claire - you are always fantastic and make my writing better. Love you!

This story is already complete, with eight chapters, and I will be posting them all today in intervals. Probably relatively quickly. I will also have a banner posted on my profile later on after I've uploaded all the chapters.

Inspiration for the title comes from the Trews' song "Hope and Ruin"

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters within my writing. No copyright infringement is intended.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"It was dark, and I was over<p>

Until you kissed my lips, and you saved me

My hands, they're strong

But my knees were far too weak

To stand in your arms

Without falling to your feet"

- Adele: Set Fire to the Rain

.

b.p.o.v

November 26th 2027

"Jasper!" I yell, pounding my feet into the snow with my quick steps, "Jasper!"

Just as he jumps down from the truck, I'm tackled from behind, landing in a snow bank with a breathless "oomph". I hear three shots in quick succession, and Emmett rolls off me, laughing carelessly, enjoying my misery. I sit up on my knees, and glare down at my snow-covered torso.

_Oh, you'll pay for this._

"Ha, ha," I say dryly, "hilarious. I think he had it covered without the football tackle, thanks."

Emmett smiles at me, all curly dark hair, dimples, and broad shoulders, effortlessly getting to his feet. He brushes off what little snow accumulated on his jacket from the fall, and looks down at me; he knows exactly how to tweak my nerves.

"What can I say? Old habits die hard." He chuckles. "Come on, little lady, I was playing around," he coaxes, "gotta have some fun now and then, right?"

I sit there and scowl, plotting my revenge in silence.

Emmett begins collecting the bags I'd dropped, resituating what little food we'd been able to salvage from the _Texaco Shell _across the street_. _I balance on the toes of my over-sized boots, and shake out my coat, watching while he piles the meagre rations.

I wish we'd been able to get more.

"Bella," Emmett says quietly, "comin'?"

He offers me a hand, and flashes me a small smile; quirky, youthful.

I take it, my throat tight, and stand up, assessing the vulgarity of the mess around us. Blackened blood paints the white road, and three walkers lay dead between the truck and gas station; bodies gnarled and twisted in decay, eyes vacant. The smell is ten times more revolting than the sight, and I look away, shaking off my unease.

My eyes meet Jasper's, standing next to the truck with his shotgun propped on his shoulder.

"The noise will draw more out," he tells us seriously, "we can't waste time. Let's move."

Emmett tosses the bags into the truck, and once he's settled back next to the others, lowers the door. I latch it tightly, taking one last glance around before I head to the front.

"Get much?" Jasper asks when I climb into the passenger seat.

I shrug. "A bit, but half of what we can still find is expired. It's just going to get worse." I cast a sideways glance at him and brush melting snow from my hair, enjoying the numbness in my fingers. "In a few months time, I don't know what we're going to do."

He puts the truck in drive, and pulls onto the road, sighing, "Me neither."


	2. December 2nd

December 2nd 2027

My head slips slowly off the palm of my hand, nodding against the cool glass. The truck is warm and quiet – save for the constant hum of the radio recording – and my eyelids feel like ten pound weights. I can't remember the last time I had more than a few hours rest, and the idea of sleep is more than enticing.

But when my head droops forward and presses fully into the icy window, I jerk upright.

I shouldn't be sleeping.

Jasper isn't back yet.

I blink several times, and rub my hands over my face, struggling to stay awake. Jasper insisted on taking this run instead of me, claiming I should stay here and relax, as if it were possible in this situation. After my close call yesterday with the walkers, he was cautious.

"_You're not going, Bella," he says matter-of-factly, "and that's that__**."**_

_I roll my eyes, and stare out the window. Snow falls in a thin sheet, dulling the outlines of houses and buildings in the distance to nothing more than dark blurs beneath an expanse of white._

"_Please look at me," he whispers, reaching for my hand, "Bella."_

_I want to be stubborn, but it's impossible. _

_He saved my life. _

_I clutch onto his hand instead, and tilt my head. He shifts closer to me, diminishing the space between us in the truck with one simple movement. His other hand cups my face, warm and callous, and his thumb lightly traces the shape of my jaw._

"_For once," he murmurs, "take a break." _

_His lips curve up, offering me a sweet smile, and though I want to give him something back, I can't. Letting them go instead of me – Jasper, Emmett...any of them – there's always the risk they won't come back. And out there, they may still have people, friends and family, loved ones who are looking for them...searching._

_But me...I have no one._

_Nobody will come searching for me._

_Jasper sees my hesitation, and in an action we only explored just yesterday, he gently kisses me. His lips are soft, and not quite familiar, but the contact is comforting. He makes me feel safe. I pull away too soon, like I did with our first kiss, and dig my teeth into my bottom lip._

_I'm still not sure how I feel about him._

"_Okay," I concede, "I'll stay."_

I grip the handle of the gun at my side, and crawl across the seat. I look out the driver's side window, across the parking lot of the grocery store and toward the vacant building. Jasper, Emmett, and Jacob left a half hour ago to gather food and supplies, and I realize they know what they're doing, but it worries me they're not back after being gone for so long.

I cautiously open the door to the truck and hop down, crunching my boots into the fresh snow. My steps are quick as I walk back to talk to the others, but before I can get there, I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

I look toward the doors of the store.

Jasper, Emmett, and Jacob.

Alive.


	3. December 7th

December 7th 2027

Jasper holds the radio up to his ear, and in spite of having heard the recording a thousand times before, he listens again, just to be sure.

"_To any survivors,"_ the woman says, her voice soft and gentle, _"don't give up hope. There are others out there, _we_ are out there, and we are safe.__ My name is Rosalie Hale, one of a hundred and forty-nine survivors at an established military compound in Washington,"_ she pauses, _"infection free. If anyone out there is listening, don't give up, please. We're here. Make your way to the North end of-"_

And that's where Rosalie's recording always ends. It stops for a minute, nothing more than static noise, before the recording repeats; the same thing, over and over. We've tried countless times to radio back, but with no response. Nothing ever goes through, and nothing but her recording ever reaches us in return. Each attempt has left us with the same grainy static, and heavy hearts.

Despite the broken recording, we have been heading North in search of the compound, from where most of us met and banded together in Arizona. We've picked up other survivors along the way, making us a strong group of nine; something I'm confident will keep us safe until we can get to the compound.

"Dammit," Jasper curses, "why does it have to end there?"

"The way life works, I suppose," Carlisle replies. He paces in front of a high school emblem painted on the wall, a handgun at his side, his tall frame alert and rigid. He keeps a steady eye on the locker room door while his wife, Esme, sits on the bench next to Jasper and I. They are the two I have been with for the longest, the ones with me at the bank when the first of the infected had stumbled through the doors and bitten an unsuspecting old lady.

"Is the water almost ready?" Esme asks.

I look down to the portable stoves on the floor – the ones used for camping – and study the four sizeable pots full of water. It's not ideal, by any means, but it's what we have to do to shower every now and then. Running water is a thing of the past, and hot water...

Well, that's about as good as gold, nowadays.

Bubbles begin to rise in the pots, and I sigh.

"Thank God," I say to Esme with a laugh. She chuckles in return, and offers me a humble smile.

"You and Lauren go first," she insists, "I can wait."

The words are simple and quiet, but for some reason, they cause tears to well in my eyes.

And for the life of me, I have no idea why.

"Are you sure?" I ask in a whisper. Esme curls her arm around my shoulder in a hug, and pulls me into her side. I lean against her; thankful for the gentle affection, for the way she seems to treat me like her own daughter.

_Alice. _

Tears stream in a hot, thick line down my face thinking about Alice, realizing how much worse it is for Esme and Carlisle. Me...I have no family, _had _no family when the infection hit. Esme and Carlisle lost contact with their children, their entire life, and haven't heard from either of them since.

_Alice and Edward._

Their son and daughter.

"No tears, honey," she says quietly, "let's make today a good day, what do you say?" I smile at her motherly nature, and nod. I'd do anything for Esme, to make her happy. She's part of the reason I'm still alive. "It's settled, then," she assures, "no more tears. Now go take that shower."

I sniffle in response, and turn, pressing a kiss to her cheek.


	4. December 10th

December 10th 2027

"So what's the plan again?" Jasper repeats. We all sit in the back of the truck, going over what we're about to do. It's the first time we've decided to split up, but we all agree it's necessary. We've finally found a mall with a department store, and in order to cover the most ground, we need to separate.

"Get in and get out as fast as we can," Lauren states, "get as much as we can. Ben, Mike, and Jacob are staying here, the rest of us are going in." Jasper nods, and Lauren continues, "Emmett and I are going with Bella, you are going with Esme and Carlisle."

"Good," Jasper sighs, "okay...we ready to do this?"

With a firm nod, I sling an empty duffle bag over my shoulder, and toss an extra gun and some ammo into the side pocket. Emmett hands Lauren a gun, and grabs one himself, carefully distributing the firearms Jasper had collected from his headquarters back in Arizona.

Once we're all geared up, we open the truck. Jasper leaves first, followed by Carlisle and Esme. A walker ambles along nearby – skin scabbed and bloody, jaw broken and hanging at an unsightly angle – straying toward us when its dead eyes make contact. Others linger in the distance, but not close enough to be threatening.

Without flinching, Jasper lifts his rifle and pulls the trigger.

His shot is flawless.

.

.

"I remember when stuff like this would have cost a fortune," Lauren muses, studying the diamond rings through the display case. "And now what? We're lucky to find something to eat." She shakes her head. "It's sickening."

"Funny how things change," Emmett replies, expertly sweeping through the floor with his gun cocked. I sift through racks of clothes, stuffing anything I can find into the duffle bag that will come close to fitting. Lauren meanders away from the rings, and does the same.

"You two almost done here?" Emmett asks, "I'm not so sure we're alone anymore."

I pause, with my hand between the racks, and listen. A quiet shuffling comes from around the corner, at which point I reach for my gun, gripping the handle tightly. I take Lauren's hand, tugging her toward Emmett.

She clutches her brother's arm, whispering, "Walker?"

He holds his hand up in silence, and takes a step forward. Lauren, cautious to let him out of her sight most of the time, follows. I stay where I am, watching them in their perusal, but hear nothing other than the eerie quiet of the abandoned building.

It may just be a false alarm.

I let out a slow breath, and turn around, heading further into the store toward a section of appliances and cookware; gun still in hand. I grab what I can – anything that's useful – and add it to my collection, awkwardly adjusting the growing weight of the bag on my shoulder.

Before I know it, I've wandered so far away I can no longer see them.

My heart begins to hammer in my chest.

"Emmett?" I whisper into the darkness. I hesitantly walk back across the floor where I left them, being as covert as I can to avoid drawing out a walker. The spacious room is just bright enough for me to see, but no matter where I look, there's no sign of them.

Not a shadow on the wall, not a footstep on the ground.

Nobody's breathing but my own.

"Lauren?" I try instead.

A low grumble responds this time, and I stop where I'm standing. A walker stumbles out from behind a cash register, limping on bloodied legs, one arm hanging out of its socket, moaning in agony. My breaths catch in my throat, and I lift my gun, taking a steady shot. The walker sags to the floor in a pile of rotting flesh, oozing tainted blood onto the white, linoleum tile.

I hold the bag close to my shoulder, and without looking for Emmett or Lauren, I run. I take off down the immobile escalator, stepping swiftly onto the next floor. Three walkers are there, already coming toward me because of the noise I caused above.

I take aim again, but with the sudden shake in my hands, I miss. I hit one of the walkers in the shoulder instead of the head, which only seems to anger it. _Really _anger it. They move quicker with the sound, and I panic, taking lengthy strides back while I simultaneously attempt to shoot. They each go down one by one, until I've emptied my clip and have nothing left to give.

I frantically reach for my second clip when another one leisurely drags itself off the escalator.

I sift through the bag, silently cursing myself for being so careless with my bullets, and fumble with the clip when I find it. Just when I toss aside the empty clip and snap the new one into place, the foul, lingering smell of death intensifies and makes my eyes water.

The walker is too close.

I'm not moving fast enough.

I turn at the wrong moment to run, and unexpectedly trip, not anticipating the display of camping gear behind me. With a wheezy groan, I fall in a tangled mess, crumpling the nylon and ropes of a small assembled tent. My bag lands beside me in a cacophony of noise, and the gun scatters a foot away, just inside the lip of the tent.

I reach for it, kicking my feet to push myself, and connect with something soft and spongy – sticky, even. When I look behind me, I realize with a sickening twist in my gut the softness is the walker's jaw. The thing is crouched over me, crawling, sporting a heel-sized dent in its deteriorating face.

I scrunch my nose up at the pungent odour and kick harder, propelling myself toward the gun, adding another welt to the walker's cheek. I wrap my fingers around the pistol, and with a confidence I didn't know I could muster at this point, I sit up and turn to face it. I pull the trigger – twice, for good measure – and shake off the walker's slumped body when it sinks onto my legs.

I fall back to the tent floor with a sigh.

Great.

Another ruined pair of jeans.

I stare up at the ceiling of the tent, eyes wide, knowing I can't stay where I am. No matter how much I want to believe it is, I know it's not safe. I take a moment to catch my breath, and when I decide it's best to move sooner rather than later, something brushes against my calf. My head snaps up, drawn to the pair of legs that stand above me.

Out of instinct, I scramble backward, jabbing my foot hard into its knee.

But when I hear a deep _human _voice respond to my attack, I gasp.

A man drops down in front of me, clutching the knee I'd sunk my heel into, his teeth clenched. "Son of a-" he bites his lip, looking at me through the entrance of the tent. "Nice boot," he says with a shaky laugh, "guess I should have said something."

I widen my eyes at him, and sit up, pushing aside the flimsy material. "I am so sorry," I tell him, unsure of what to do, "I...I thought you were-"

"It's fine," he replies, "honestly." He rubs his knee one last time, and repositions himself into a crouch, offering me his hand. "We should go, though," he says quietly, "you made enough noise to wake the dead."

He smiles at me, something oddly cute and completely uncalled for in this type of situation. His full lips pull up at the corners, and his striking eyes dance with his attempt at humour. Despite our predicament, I can't help but to smile back at him.

"Very funny," I reply demurely. I take his outstretched hand, gripping it tight as I step through the entrance of the tent and carefully get to my feet. I look up at him, startled by his closeness, how tall he is compared to my tiny frame. I clear my throat, and let go of his hand, focusing instead on gathering what I'd dropped.

"I don't mean to be blunt," he says in a rush, "but there's really no time for that." I hear his gun click before he shoots off two rounds, leaving a deafening ring in my ears. "More will come," he warns me, taking the shirt in my hands and tossing it to the ground, "we have to go."

"But-my stuff," I stammer, glancing up at him, "I-"

He grips my wrist firmly, and tows me away, keeping his eyes trained on the darkness that swallows up the majority of the department store. I follow reluctantly, jogging to keep up with him, desperate to turn around and collect all the things he made me leave behind.

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off, "Look, I don't have time to explain, I'm-" He stops at a column running from ceiling to floor, and puts a finger to his lips; a motion for me to be quiet. I stand still at his side, and hold my breath when another walker ambles by.

He doesn't hesitate to shoot, and once the walker slumps to the ground, the man turns to me.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "but we don't have much time." He pauses, and when a distinct chorus of tormented moans travels through the store and echoes off the walls, my stomach drops. "Shit," he mutters, "they got in." He purses his lips, and grasps my hand tighter. "Before I forget," he adds, "I'm Edward. You are...?"

I offer him a grim smile, and reply, "Bella. My name is Bella, but...I'm here with others. I-"

"I know," he tells me, reaching around his back and producing another gun, "they'll be safe. Here."

I take it hesitantly, determined to believe he's telling the truth.

And without another word, Edward and I run.

.

.

"Get in!" I yell at Edward. I tug on the back of his jacket, and pull him inside the van, sliding the door closed with a wet "squish". Three crooked, disjointed fingers slip from rubber seam all the way down to the floor, and I make a face at them.

The smell alone is nauseating.

"Oh, that's just gross," Edward says bitterly.

"Tell me about it," I murmur. A shudder ripples through me, and when I glance up at the tinted window, I see at least a dozen walkers throw themselves carelessly at the van, rocking it. Mouths open and close, spewing forth a thick, red-black sludge, and scabbed, bloody hands press insistently into the glass. We're completely surrounded, and just beyond the crowd of walkers, the truck flashes in and out of view.

"What are we going to do?" I ask him.

"We drive," a woman responds. I turn sharply, stunned by the blonde woman in the driver's seat I hadn't noticed. "Sorry," she says in a strangely familiar tone, "didn't mean to frighten you. I'm Rose."

I pucker my brow in curiosity, replying, "I'm Bella."

"It's nice to meet you," she offers politely, then looks at Edward, "we can't possibly go out there. We have to drive out of this mess, and then make sure we have everyone. It's suicide, Edward-"

"Did you see my sister?" he asks impatiently, straining to catch a glimpse of her over the onslaught of walkers outside, "Is she with the others?"

Rose sighs, "Yes, she's with them. I couldn't see Tyler, but I can only hope they're together."

"These are the people you're with?" I ask them. Edward closes his eyes in something that resembles relief, and nods slowly, his head back against the seat. The van continues to lurch precariously, and the longer we sit, the more unbearable the stench of the undead becomes.

"Okay," Edward says quietly, "let's go, Rose. We'll meet up with them at some point once we're out of this area."

Rose does what she's told with no further instruction. She turns on the van, and as if she's done it a hundred times before, Rose guns it, peeling down the street as fast as she can, taking out anything in her way.

.

.

As soon as the capacity of walkers slowly begins to decrease around us, Rose eases up on the gas. I detach my fingers from the seat where I'm gripping it, and flex them, smiling sheepishly at Edward when he catches what I'm doing.

"Ah, that was fun," Rose declares, "what a rush. So I guess _that _didn't go well?"

Edward shakes his head, and leans between the seats to chat with Rose. I sit back while they talk and stare out the window, watching the buildings and streets pass us by in a haze of colours and shapes, not really _seeing _them. I'm merely looking, listening to the warmth in their voices, the sense of camaraderie Edward and Rose share. It makes me think of Esme, the long talks we've had over these last few months, the way I feel like I can tell her anything; the way she reminds me of my own mother.

My earlier sense of panic is swept away, replaced by a staggering sense of grief, of not knowing. I bite back the overwhelming sting of tears, and tuck my hair behind my ear.

I have to believe they're safe, all of them.

"...you know how she is," Rose finishes, "Alice wouldn't leave him behind."

_Alice..._

Alice.

I twist abruptly in my seat.

Butterflies assault my stomach so hard I feel nauseas.

"What did you say?" I ask. Edward turns to me with a strange expression on his face, and the moment his inquiring eyes sink into mine, I'm lost. I'm too startled to do anything but stare at him; at the delicate shape of his eye and the clear, beautiful jade green hue that's flecked with streaks of hazel.

The recognition – the familiarity – strikes me with such ferocity, but words won't come.

Nothing.

Not a single word comes to mind, and at the same time, there's so much to say.

So much to tell him.

"_He has my eyes, you know," Esme muses with a wistful smile._

_I smile back, and glance at Carlisle when he says, "And Alice has mine."_

"Bella?" he prompts, "Are...you okay?"

Without thinking, I reach up, absently touching the corner of his eye, feeling the softness of his skin, and gradually smooth my fingers down to his unshaven jaw; strong and defined.

"_She sounds beautiful," I tell Esme, "really. What about Edward?"_

_Esme sighs, "He's grown up to be such a handsome man." She looks out the window, silent for a moment. "I've been told he looks just like me, but I don't see it," she admits with a gentle laugh, "I've always thought he looked like Carlisle with his bone structure."_

Tears spill down my cheeks, and Edward places his hand over mine, murmuring, "What's wrong?"

"You...you look so much like your mother," I say honestly, thinking back to my conversation with Esme, "not your father." I swallow a choking sob, and continue, "I know your parents...they're alive, Edward."

Whether he does it intentionally or not, his fingers tighten against mine; his eyes are wide and unblinking. I squeeze his hand back in assurance, to let him know it is okay, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Rose turns a corner too sharply and unexpectedly slams on the brakes. I slide into Edward, and he slides between the seat and the door, bracing himself awkwardly with one hand on the passenger seat in front of him.

"What the hell?" Edward mutters. He helps me back into a sitting position, and rights himself, looking curiously at Rose in the front seat. I look with him...but instead of Rose, my eyes are drawn to the macabre scene outside the windshield.

A small, terrified whimper falls from my lips.

Walkers.

Hundreds of them.

Hundreds of flesh-hungry, undead creatures, banded together like a small army, heads cocked and eyes straining toward one thing.

Us.

"Oh shit," Edward whispers in horror.

"Turn around," I tell Rose with a discernable quake in my voice, "go. Now, go!"

But Rose doesn't move. Her hands, locked in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, stay where they are. Her shoulders quiver, and from what I can see of her profile, she's stunned...scared stiff.

She doesn't know what to do.

"Rose!" Edward yells at her. He reaches for her bicep, and squeezes, shaking her roughly out of her frightened daze. "Rosalie!" he says with more conviction, "Turn around."

She shakes her head, as if she's been momentarily paralyzed, and quickly shifts the gears. She looks over her shoulder and out the back window, past us, determination apparent in her features despite her tears. She bites her lip and turns the wheel expertly, spinning us back in the other direction, putting us behind the truck already a few blocks ahead.

.

.

Rose speeds and weaves through the streets, mimicking the truck, dodging groups of walkers that roam the city. I stare at the green, fluorescent numbers on the clock in the dashboard, focusing on the _2:04 _flashing back at me. I have no idea if it's the real time, not that it matters, anyway. I try to take my mind off everything swirling around inside my head with those numbers, except...it doesn't work.

Nothing will.

It changes to _2:05, _and I look away, blinking through the stupid concession of tears I wish I could control.

I sniffle quietly with my face turned toward the window, and bite the inside of my cheek when I feel Edward brush his thumb over my knuckles.

I hadn't even realized I was holding his hand.

"You okay?" he whispers to me. His voice is gentle and sweet, and his sincerity, how much he seems to care, doesn't help in hindering my tears. I bow my head and shake it, causing my hair to fall in a wavy cloak around my face, shielding me from Edward.

"No," I tell him.

He slips his hand from mine, and puts his arm around my shoulder instead, inviting me toward him. I curl myself into his side, and bury my face in my hands, hoping all my anger, frustration, and worry will just disappear and offer me some kind of reprieve, even for a little while; hoping, for once_, _I will be able to just _stop_.

Defeated and beyond tired, I sigh into Edward's chest, bracing myself against him when Rose speeds up and bowls over a group of walkers. I hear Edward's muffled voice during the chaos, but with the sound of the van's tires crunching through decaying bodies, I can't make out what he says. I glance up at him, furrowing my brow in question.

He bends his neck, and with his lips intimately close to my ear, he softly says, "Thank you."

.

.

At some point during the drive, I fall asleep talking to Edward. The last thing I remember is his voice, the way it's gravelly and deep when he's speaking quietly, how it becomes strained and tight as he recalls a part of his life that no longer exists. We talk for a while, and I don't know when it happens, but eventually I stop caring about where we're going, or how long it will take us to get there. All I can focus on is him, his story...and how nothing breaks my heart more than hearing how painful these last few months have been for him and Alice.

In the end, the emotion is too much.

The sadness, the crying, the consoling...it takes its toll.

I drift off, perfectly content to listen to Edward's voice; a sound which follows me into my dreams.

.

.

I clutch the soft comforter in my hands, and pull it up tighter around my chin, snuggling into the immense warmth enveloping me. My head is nestled on a praise-worthy pillow, and my entire body buzzes with a foreign sensation of fulfillment. I hum quietly at how heavenly it feels, and twist slightly on the bed, listening to the slight creak beneath me...

When I realize I'm in a _bed. _

With reluctance, I pry open my eyes, more than averse to ruin this blissful dream. They adjust easily to the semi-dark room, taking in the decoration of flickering candles scattered across the bedside table next to me, and the dresser adjacent to the bed. I blink to clear the sleep from my gaze, and study the rest of the room, letting my eyes travel from the lime green beanbag chair in the corner, to the mess of clothes on the floor, landing on the full length movie poster on the back of the stark white door.

I frown at the poster, and continue my inspection, becoming more and more confused the longer I look.

_Where am I?_

I sit up eventually, and press my fingers into the plush mattress, knowing – for a fact – this is no dream.

This is real.

I bite my lip to quell the pulsing shreds of hope stirring inside me, and toss aside the covers. The first thing I take note of – and so does my uneasy stomach – is the rotten stench of caked blood and sweat marring my jeans and sweater. I hold my breath to prevent myself from gagging, and grimace at how dirty I am.

Without a second of hesitation, I begin removing everything. I gladly leave my clothes in a pile to be burned and grab the first thing I see on the floor – an oversized pair of sweats and a grey t-shirt. I smooth my hands down the front of the wrinkled shirt, smiling for some reason at the college emblem printed on it.

I suppose it reminds me of a simpler time, when things like college mattered, when it was important to have a job and make money, when people had interests and hobbies and lives.

And now?

Well, the t-shirt may as well have been blank with all the weight it carried.

I let out a heavy sigh and drop my hands to my sides. I look at the back of the door again, sceptical of what exactly happened after the debacle at the department store. All I can seem to remember is Edward, and none of where I am, how I got here, or where everyone else is. I know only what is around me, and frankly, I appear to be standing in the bedroom of a sixteen year-old girl...with very baggy clothes.

Something else tugs at the back of my mind, that shred of hope again, but I push it away.

I can't allow myself to think we've finally found safety in a world so unpredictable.

I take a few steps toward the door, opening it quietly, and though I'm cautious to leave, I figure a place with a bed can't be anything remotely close to bad. Outside, the hallway is dark and narrow, with lightly coloured walls and a hardwood floor that's cold on my bare feet. I tentatively make my way toward the dull glow of candlelight and soft murmur of voices, swallowing my anxiety at how fast my heart is beating.

When I reach the mouth of the hallway, I pause at the sight of Jasper. He's lounging comfortably on a nearby chair, laughing at something; a smile that's real and genuine, and a sound so amazing and cheerful I can't help but to smile, too.

I don't think I've ever seen him so carefree before.

I clear my throat and take a timid step into the room I quickly realize is something akin to a living room, with couches and chairs framing a large coffee table in the center. Before I can take a breath, make my presence known, Esme is off the couch, almost knocking me to the ground with the intensity of her hug.

I laugh breathlessly at her vigour, and attempt to tame her mane of hair tickling my nose.

"Bella," she says with reverence, rocking us side-to-side, "you had me so worried." She pulls back, and tenderly peppers a small series of kisses along my temple. "Don't ever do that to me again," she tells me sternly, "or...well, I don't know exactly what."

I chuckle at her tone, having heard it a few choice times before when Jasper and I had gotten into risky situations. I tilt my head slightly to look at her, to accept the scolding, but find instead something that nearly breaks my heart – Esme is crying.

I never do well when Esme cries.

"Esme," I murmur with a shake of my head, "no, no, no...I'm fine. Look-I'm okay." I place my hands on either side of her face, and smile, hoping to cheer her up.

I hate to see her so upset.

"I...I thought you were dead," she admits in a whisper, "when you didn't come back." My smile falters at the pain in her voice. "I don't know what I would have done, Bella," she continues unsteadily, "if you..." She jerks her head back and forth in place of speaking, and closes her eyes, causing tears to collect where my thumbs meet her jaw. I dry her cheeks with my palms, and pull her back to me, murmuring a quiet chorus of "shh" in her ear to hopefully settle her emotions.

I purse my lips to keep them from quivering, and shake my head again. "You don't have to think about it, Esme," I tell her, "because I'm here. I'm safe. Please...don't cry." I rub slow circles into her back, sighing, "You know I hate it when you cry."

She offers me a weak laugh in return, and sniffles. "Sorry, but a mother worries about her family, Bella."

I smile at the mention of family, knowing she considers me as nothing less.

Over her shoulder, I see everyone else I have come to care for; they're all here and accounted for...Ben and Mike, Jacob, Emmett and Lauren.

_Family._

My eyes journey past Emmett and Lauren, onto another couch where I catch sight of Edward, sitting next to Carlisle and who I assume is Alice. The candles cast his face in an array of shadow and light, a spectacle of dancing, iridescent colour that perfectly reflects off his high cheekbones and adds a subtle, alluring glint to his green eyes.

I have no idea where it comes from, but all I can think is how beautiful he looks.

How beautiful he _is. _

I quickly divert my eyes, and pull away from Esme, admitting, "If you're looking for someone to thank, I'd talk to your son. I'm not sure I would have made it without him."

At the mention of Edward, Esme lights up, wearing a smile on her face only a proud mother could bear. She presses a kiss to my cheek, and turns back to her family, settling herself on the couch between Carlisle and Edward, gazing at her son with nothing but love and respect. She amorously kisses his forehead, her eyes closed...and in all the time I've known Esme, never have I seen her more at peace than she is right now, never have I seen her so happy.

Completely and utterly happy.

I suppress a smile of my own and take a spot on the arm of Jasper's chair.

"Hey," he says quietly, "it's good to see you."

I bite my lip, and tangle my fingers together in my lap. "Same to you," I tell him, "I'm just glad you're all okay." He pushes his shaggy, blond hair from his eyes – eyes that are an astonishing shade of blue – and looks up at me. His lip curls slightly at the corner, offering me an easy grin, and he gently places his hand on my knee.

Before I can do anything in return, large, warm arms snake around my neck from behind. Without looking, I know instantly...it's Emmett. I laugh at the awkwardness of how our cheeks press together and his chin juts into my shoulder.

"Ow," I say between chuckling at him, "you're so bony." I rotate my shoulder to emphasize my point, and he makes a sound of mock offense.

"Am not," he retorts, "you're the one who's built like a bean pole; all bones and no meat." He laughs in my ear, and I laugh with him, curling my arms around his in an attempt to give him a hug. Even if he is a little bit immature sometimes, being only seventeen, he's like a brother to me.

"Listen...I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," he whispers this time, radically changing his tone, "we got distracted. We saw some of the others who came with Edward and...b-by the time we got back you were gone. Walkers were crawling all over that store. I-"

"Emmett," I cut him off, "it's fine, really. Edward was there, everyone got out safe." I tighten my arms against his in reassurance. "Let's just think about that, okay?"

I feel him nod his head – probably reluctantly, knowing him – before he retracts his arms. He returns to the couch where Lauren and Rose are sitting, and contentedly nestles himself between them. Lauren looks like she's half asleep, and Rose, who now doesn't look much older than Emmett, smiles at him.

I stifle a yawn, and glance out over the rest of the room, taking in the television against the wall, the two standing lamps, and the dining room that is just barely visible from where I'm sitting. In the sub-par lighting, the walls appear to be a variation of taupe, and the shades covering the window and balcony door are a deep, dark colour I can't quite make out.

And when I fully register the _balcony, _my throat constricts.

We're in a building.

A building...with a bed, and blankets, and clothes, and warmth, and...

Safety.

Despite my need to ignore the rising, nagging tendrils of hope in my chest, to protect myself from disappointment, I can't help how my heart races and my breathing changes. I slip down from the arm of the chair and step over Jasper's legs, letting my feet carry me to the balcony door. I push aside the dark curtain, feeling the harsh cold outside through the plane of glass, and spy a thick coat of snow on the ground just beyond.

And past that – past the rail of the balcony – there's nothing. Complete darkness. With the exception of the half moon lighting the cloudy sky, it's blank.

I press my hand to the icy glass, and step up on my tip toes, trying to get a glimpse of something; anything. When I feel a hand on the small of my back, I turn and gaze up at Jasper. His eyes soften, flickering between me and what lies outside. Eventually his gaze settles on me, unwavering, confirming what my gut is telling me.

_We made it. _


	5. December 13th

December 13th 2027

The first few days at the compound are more or less spent exploring, familiarizing ourselves with the city, easing into a routine...adjusting.

Rose – AKA Rosalie Hale – the girl from the recording, shows us around the makeshift city, leading us through the quiet, peaceful streets. Along the way, she points out things of interest; buildings designated for housing, others designated to hold backup food and water supplies, as well as a surplus of candles, lighters, flashlights, batteries, cookware, toiletries, and clothing – essentially anything we might need to comfortably survive.

A small section of land also remains reserved at the front of the compound, where Rose informs me the military keep the sick and possibly infected. It's a place she briefly passes on our impromptu tour, but I understand why she doesn't want to linger.

It's not a place she wants to be.

At first, the concept of being inside the compound is...surreal.

For me it's hard to imagine walking down the street, unafraid of what might wait in the shadows, of how many walkers may be _just _around the corner, lingering. I can't fathom not carrying my gun with me, cocked and ready to fire at a moment's notice.

But being able to do these things – to step outside and enjoy the beauty of the falling snow without needing my gun, not having to worry about being attacked – is the most exhilarating thing I've felt in a long time. In a strange way, the compound gives me an odd sense of freedom.

It makes me feel lighter, and in spite of knowing it is nowhere close to perfect, I also know it's better than the alternative.

It's a chance to start over.

.

.

"Here," Rose says, tossing me a cute bra from the other side of the table, "this one should fit." I hold up the garment in my hands, admiring the black and white lace finish along the edges. "And plus, it's super hot," she tells me with a wink.

I laugh at her observation, and continue digging, sifting through tables upon tables of anything and everything – shirts, jeans, sweats, underwear...even the sexy, racy type of lingerie I _used _to buy before the infection began.

We're in the rec center toward the east end of the compound, doing a bit of what Alice likes to refer to as 'shopping'. Though, it's not much more than grabbing what we can – what will fit – from the hundreds of items arranged on the neatly organized tables; items people like Rose and Alice found while they had gone outside the compound walls on a raid.

"Ooh, this," Alice beams with excitement, launching a navy blue and white teddy at my face. I blink through the fabric, and hold a strap on each thumb, scouring my eyes over the lack of material. Even though I have to agree it _is _cute and sexy, and definitely something I would wear, I don't see a need for it.

It's not like I have a boyfriend, and since our arrival at the compound, Jasper and I have decided it's best to kill whatever it is we had and just stay friends. We came to realize we were trying to force a romantic relationship when there was nothing to really work on. We're still close – he's someone I completely trust with my life – but we both felt we tried too hard to create some type of intimacy when those feelings didn't exist between us.

It was something we explored _because _of our situation, not something that developed naturally.

"Alice, really?" I say to her with a chuckle, "What the hell do I need this for?"

She shrugs her dainty shoulders and offers me a sweet grin, resuming her perusal. I laugh at her eccentricities, finding it hard to believe I've only known her for a total of three days. With how much I've learned from Esme and Carlisle, not just about Alice, but Edward as well...it feels like I've known them forever.

I already know who they are and what they like, their quirks and habits, and more than that, I care about them.

I cared about them before I even met them.

Once we're finished our night of 'shopping', the three of us walk back through the ploughed streets of the compound, to the apartment building I now call home. It's one of the many structures within the perimeter of the towering compound walls, along with several other condos, smaller houses, public centers, and unused retail stores. The area of the compound covers a small portion of what used to be Seattle, barricading an impressive section of the city (no more than five blocks in each direction), and a number of survivors who have trickled in since the day of the infection.

Although it's not much in the grand scheme of things, I find it an extraordinary accomplishment given the circumstances.

When we make it to the building, I awkwardly twist my arm to open the door, and use my foot to pry it wide enough to fit through. I lead the way down the dim hallways, brightened intermittently by electric lanterns hanging on the walls, some of which are broken and need to be replaced. The gap of darkness between the broken lanterns and the lighted ones makes me incredibly anxious, though I know I have no reason to feel that way.

I suppose it's just a reflex emotion now for me to be afraid of the dark.

After several minutes of navigating the hallways, wrestling with doors, and having Alice and Rose laugh at me, we finally make it to the third floor where our apartments are. I get to the loft I share with Alice's family, and groan at the closed door. Instead of even attempting to open it, I kick it with my foot in hopes someone inside will hear my knocking effort.

"So, what...the world turns to hell and we don't feel the need to knock on doors anymore?" Rose asks teasingly.

I turn around and narrow my eyes. "Hilarious," I reply with a contrived smile, "you wanna give the knock a try?"

Rose chuckles in response, and looks past me when the door opens. Edward and Emmett help us with the bags, some filled with clothes and toiletries, and others filled with rations from the food building; stuff like tuna, canned soups, frozen meals, and a few other packaged goods that haven't yet expired. Though being inside the compound _is_ liberating, the issue of food still persists. What we can find is pretty much limited to cans, pastas, and various frozen items that have been salvaged.

I follow Edward to the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter, carefully sliding over a few burning candles to make room. I help him put the food away, storing the cans in the cupboards and stacking the frozen food in the freezer.

_The freezer._

Another problem we face – electricity.

Generators are scattered throughout most of the compound, offering electricity for only what is completely necessary. In short, it's used for working the appliances; refrigerators, stoves, and microwaves. Where we don't _need _electricity, we don't use it – hence the abundance of candles and lanterns used anywhere we can. It's an easy solution to the problem, and one I don't particularly mind. Using candles gives off a warm, intimate ambiance I quite enjoy.

Edward helps me sort the food and we chat quietly while we empty bags. So far, my conversations with him have been effortless. We simply fall into a discussion, and we're perfectly content to go on forever, whether it's an exchange of opinions or a heated argument. We've talked about countless topics, from movies to sports and everything in between, and no matter the subject, our conversations are always interesting.

Talking to him, just being around him...it makes me happy.

He's someone I look forward to seeing every day.

And as contradictory as it may be, it's both scary and exciting that I just might have a huge crush on Esme's son.


	6. December 16th

December 16th 2027

"Ouch," I say with a smirk when Esme lands her silver shoe on Boardwalk, "that's gonna cost you. How many hotels do I have...two?"

She groans at landing on my loaded space, _again, _and carefully counts out the colourful bills until she gets to the right amount; which is _a lot._

"Don't look so smug, missy," Esme retorts, handing over the money and raising her delicate brow at me, "I'm coming back for that cash, so you may as well just set it aside." I laugh at how snarky she is when it comes to board games, and keep her money separate from my rather large pile. "That's it," she says with an approving nod.

Edward rolls next, and takes his silver boat from space to space, unwilling to set it down when he reaches Kentucky Avenue. "Oh for the love of-" he curses at the game, but holds his tongue, gazing at me with those pretty eyes from across the board. "Any chance you'll take a rain check?" he asks hopefully.

He does this every time we play Monopoly, because for some reason, he's always out first.

And as always, I'm tempted by his charm, by the way he looks at me, to almost say yes.

_Almost. _

"Yeee-no," I joke, "but nice try."

He sighs, "Well, Bella...I think you've cleaned me out, then. I'm officially broke." He gives me everything he has, including a _Get out of Jail Free _card, and observes, "I'm really not good at this game – I don't know why I play it."

Carlisle laughs, "We play because they rope us into it. Twenty-eight years with your mother and I still can't seem to say no to her."

When Carlisle smiles at Esme from his spot on my right, she doesn't return the gesture. Instead, she blinks at him, replying, "Twenty-eight? Oh, okay...I wasn't aware our first year of marriage didn't count as part of that."

I can see the faint traces of a smirk playing around the edge of her mouth, and to avoid being part of this awkward conversation, I casually stretch out my legs and stand up, practically bee-lining it to the kitchen. All I hear as I flee is Carlisle's stuttered, mumbled attempt to rectify his mistake, which – if I must say so – is quite amusing.

I pull a bottle of water out of the fridge, and turn around to find Edward settling himself against the counter. "Nobody ever said he was a bright man," Edward chuckles, "because that's definitely not the way to score brownie points with my mom."

I take a swig of water, and offer him a sip, laughing, "That's not the way to score brownie points with _anyone._" Edward hands the bottle back to me, and widens his eyes in the direction of the living room to the sound of raised voices. "Maybe we should leave?" I suggest.

Edward nods. "Good thinking," he says in a whisper, "want to go for a walk or something?"

As quickly and quietly as possible, Edward and I make our way to the front hall, slip on our winter jackets and boots, and head out the door. The lanterns lead us through the building, downstairs, and outside, where the large, beautiful sun is beginning to set in the sky, cresting over the tops of the towering sky scrapers of Seattle.

The colour is phenomenal, a delicate blend of amber-orange and blood red.

"Wow," I murmur, "it's so pretty."

"Yeah," Edward agrees in a soft voice, "it's something."

I twist my neck slightly to look at him, and when I do, I feel a light brush against my fingertips; a gentle touch of Edward's fingers, followed by the warmth of his hand slipping into mine. My lips pull up into a spontaneous smile, and my pulse quickens at the contact. I glance down at our hands instead, more than certain he's aware of how much I like him.

"Is this okay?" he asks, motioning to our joined hands.

I nod. "It's perfect."


	7. December 21st

December 21st 2027

"Um..._Jingle Bells_," Jacob says with a decisive nod of his head, "gotta go with a classic. It's one of the best."

"_Frosty the Snowman_," Lauren replies absently, "always been my favourite." She looks down at her lap, then for what has to be the hundredth time, hazards a glance at the door. "My mom used to sing it to Emmett and I when we were kids."

There is a slight pause, a lull in the conversation, before Alice clears her throat. "Hmm, there are so many good ones," she continues, struggling to keep this tiny gathering somewhat lively, "but I think I'd have to say either _Jingle Bell Rock_ or _Silent Night_."

My eyes drift away from the candle on the table, and automatically find the door – again – burning a hole into the wood with how badly I wish it would open. Edward, Emmett, Jasper, and Carlisle left two days ago to go on a raid, despite the attempts of Lauren, Esme, and I to convince them _not _to go. Our argument had been solid, that there were plenty of other men and women in the compound to go on the raid, but they had insisted.

And since they left, I've been a wreck, a mess of nerves, and Alice's endeavour to lighten the mood with talk of Christmas has only made me more anxious. I can't keep my eyes off the door, and every time I look, my desperation for them to return heightens.

It's almost unbearable.

"Bella?" Alice prompts, gently nudging me with her elbow. "What about you?"

I blink, and tear my eyes away from the door. "Uh, what? Oh...right, _Let it Snow_," I answer, "it has to be one of my favourites." I cast a sideways glance at Alice, and she offers me a sad smile. "Sorry," I mutter, "just a bit distracted."

She leans closer to me and whispers, "Edward's fine, Bella. We do this all the time. We go out, grab some stuff, kill some walkers, and we're back." I'm flustered by her assertion, and when I try to defend myself, nothing comes out of my mouth. Not one, single word helps me explain my feelings for Edward. Alice smirks at my lack of coherent thought, and chuckles, "I know you're worried about my brother, but you don't need to be. He'll be back soon."

I'm too disconcerted by her observation to do anything but stare at the burning candle.

.

.

Later that night, I'm startled awake by a crash of noise, followed by a hushed, "Shit, Emmett, walk much?"

I open my heavy eyelids, and watch drowsily as Emmett turns and protests, "Well I didn't see it, Edward. Go cry about it."

They banter and bicker back and forth for a few minutes while they set down bags and boxes of stuff against the wall. Jasper and Carlisle are with them, stacking more boxes and unloading more bags they will eventually take down to the public buildings for sorting and distributing.

I sit up when they're finished, and yawn, glancing at Alice, Esme, Lauren, and Rose, all of whom are sleeping on the couches and chairs in our living room. After I stretch out my back and arms, I head to the kitchen, following the trail of quiet voices; though all I can seem to hear is Emmett.

It makes me smile.

Emmett wouldn't know quiet if it slapped him in the face.

I stand in the doorway of the kitchen, feeling a massive flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach when my gaze falls on Edward, as if he has been gone for weeks, not days. It's like my insides have all twisted together, coiling, giving me the most euphoric and frightening sensation imaginable.

Euphoric because he's _here, _he's here and he's safe and I don't have to worry anymore.

Frightening because I'm pretty sure I now know what those feelings mean.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts once Edward realizes I'm hovering in the doorway. The smile he flashes me is completely disarming, and his tired eyes are almost black in the dim light. He takes a few strides to get to me, and gathers me in a hug, lifting my feet right off the floor. I laugh in his ear, and wrap my arms around his neck.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hey," he says softly, "did Emmett wake you up?" I nod, and turn my face into the curve of his throat, feeling more than content with where I am, snuggled against him. Like Edward's arms were made just for holding me. "He's so clumsy," Edward murmurs, tightening his grip around me, "you should go back to sleep."

"It's kind of hard to do that standing up, Edward," I point out, "although...I am quite comfortable right here."

He chuckles, "So am I." Unfortunately, a minute later he chooses to set me back down on the floor. "Come on," he says, lacing his fingers with mine, "I'll take you up to bed."

My insides tangle further at the mention of bed, even if his intonation and actions are suggesting nothing more than simply taking me to my room and putting me in my bed. Before he leads me upstairs, he grabs one of the larger candles from the side table in the living room. The dull glow lights the way to my bedroom, flickering faintly and just barely reflecting off the white walls. Edward opens the first door on the left, and ushers me inside, following to set the candle down on my dresser.

"Thanks," I tell him, planting myself on the edge of my bed, "I appreciate it."

He tucks his hands in his pockets, giving me a brief smile. "You're welcome. Get some sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

My heart jumps into my throat when he turns to leave, and the words spill out of my mouth so fast I don't even have time to process the completely impulsive question, "Will you stay with me?" Edward pauses near the door, and I only dig the hole deeper when I fail to explain, "I-I...I just..."

Closing my eyes, I flop down on the bed, covering my face with my hands. I take a deep breath, finding the nerve to mumble, "I missed you," through my fingers.

I keep my eyes shut tight, and press the palms of my hands to my forehead, regretting my decision to say something so forward and honest when Edward doesn't respond. However, not more than five seconds pass before those feelings are quashed, replaced by a wave of warmth when the bed dips down beside me with his weight.

Edward gently pulls my hands away from my face, but I refuse to open my eyes.

"You're not even going to look at me?" he asks with a hint of amusement.

I shake my head, moving it back and forth across the bunched up comforter. "Nope."

He chuckles, "Bella...come on." I feel him shift his weight again before his hand is on my face, soft and affectionate. His palm cups my jaw, and he tilts my chin toward the sound of his voice. "Please look at me?" he asks, "I don't know why you're so embarrassed."

I sigh, and bite my lip, slowly opening my eyes, finding Edward's almost immediately in spite of the muted light the single candle provides. I'm overcome by how close he is, the way his body is bowed over mine.

How incredibly soft and supple his lips look from this distance.

The way my toes tingle with how badly I want to kiss him.

I stare at his lips, and Edward clears his throat, murmuring, "Bella?"

"Hmm?" I mumble, lost in thought.

"I missed you, too," he admits in a whisper, "every second I was gone." He brushes his thumb across my cheek, and slips his fingers around my neck, curling them into my hair. "I couldn't stop thinking about you...what you were doing," he smirks, "whether or not you missed me, too."

I sit up slightly, and rest on my elbows, caging myself between Edward's arms. "Yeah?" I ask, gazing up at him.

"Yeah," he says with wistful grin, "leaving put some perspective on things for me. Being out there...killing those-those things," he shakes his head, "it made me realize how lucky I am to have survived everything." He dips his head down, causing the light of the candle to glint off his stunning eyes, making them appear on fire. "It made me realize how much I wanted to come back here and see you," he says, tenderly grazing my nose with his, "because I couldn't stand being away from you."

He lightly makes another pass with his nose, lingering this time, and my breaths hitch when he cautiously presses his lips against mine. It's the softest kiss, and so brief it's almost cruel. "I want to be where you are," he whispers, "always."

With that, he pulls back, perhaps to avoid being too brazen, or perhaps to give me time to contemplate what he said, I'm not sure. Instinctively, I follow, matching his movements, suddenly not in the least concerned with my actions, or how bold it may be.

What he said...it's exactly what I want – what I've _wanted. _

I accost him with my lips and hands, allowing nearly two weeks' worth of desire and attraction to pour out of me...kissing, touching, exploring; knowing my feelings are reciprocated in the way his hands grip my waist, with how eager he is to return my hungry kisses. I straddle him on the bed, listening to the contented groan that comes from the back of his throat when I slip my tongue into his mouth. He tastes amazing...minty and spicy – almost like spearmint gum or icy cool toothpaste – and the toe-curling way he kisses me, with such fervour, makes my head spin.

He grasps my hips firmly, tightening his fingers before he deftly slides them beneath my sweater, tracing the dips and curves of my back, up to the clasp of my bra. When he snaps it open, my shaking hands find the zipper of his jacket. I quickly tear through it, push it from his shoulders, and cast it aside, sitting back just enough to pull his shirt over his head.

Seconds later, my sweater and bra join them.

Edward's warm lips and soft tongue focus on the exposed flesh, tracing the lines of my collarbone, causing a series of goose bumps to follow, prickling my heated skin. I tilt my head back, enjoying the stimulation, the way he makes me feel, and gasp at the sudden knock on the door that's accompanied by, "Bella, are you in here? I was looking for Edwa – oh! Oh God!"

I scramble off Edward's lap at the sound of her voice, seizing a pillow to cover my chest as I turn and exclaim, "Esme!"

"Mom!" Edward says at the same time.

"Oh...my," she says, staring intently at the wall rather than us, "I, um – sorry," she stumbles through an apology, "I-I'm just going to, ah..."

She turns abruptly, and leaves, closing the door behind her.

"Well," Edward sighs after a long stretch of silence, "_that_ should be a fun conversation."

I nod in agreement, and cover my face with the pillow, unable to control my laughter. "Yeah."


	8. December 24th

December 24th 2027

"Oh, but it looks so beautiful outside," Esme coaxes, gesturing to the window, "just come out for a bit. I don't want to leave you alone."

"Yeah," Alice adds, "it's snowing. It'll be fun."

I casually glance at the window, admiring the softness of the falling snow even though I already know my answer. "It's okay," I tell them, "you go...have fun. I kind of want to stay in today." Esme steps around the coffee table, and sits down next to me, plucking the book from my hands.

I smile at her persistence. "Esme."

"Bella," she replies. I fold my arms across my chest, and purse my lips, unwavering in my decision to stay in and read. "Fine," Esme relents, handing me the book, "but as long as you're _sure _you don't want to come out with us, even for a little while?"

"I'm positive," I assure her.

With a sigh, she leans in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, slyly murmuring, "And you're not avoiding me because of what happened-"

"No," I interrupt her, "God no. I promise."

She chuckles, "Just wanted to make sure."

Satisfied I won't change my mind any time soon, Esme leaves with Alice, Jasper, and Carlisle to go for a walk around the city. I flip open my book, thumbing through the pages until I find the one I was on before Esme's good half hour distraction. I settle in and read for a while, losing myself between the lines, the quasi-love triangle, the passion the main character has for his lover.

The intimacy.

_He sweeps his lips down my throat, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin near my collarbone. His tongue is warm – precise – mapping out the slight dips, the contour of my chest, the valley of my breasts; his fingers are just as active, pressing into my stomach, then my hips, curving beneath my naked thighs._

I reach the bottom of the page, unable to remember a single line of what I just read.

I blink at the last word, and let my eyes travel back up to the top.

_He gasps when I gently nibble on the smooth, defined lines of his stomach, rubbing frenzied circles into the back of my shoulders. Another gasp and he clutches my hair instead, brushing it from my face, curling it around his fingers, watching as my lips slowly outline the deep set muscle hear his hips. _

Halfway down the page, I lose my place again.

I find myself re-reading the same sentence twice.

Three times.

"_You're so beautiful," he says in a breathless whisper, "so beautiful."_

_I lean down to kiss him, cupping his jaw in my hands, tracing every part of his face I can, remembering...memorizing. His palms mould to my lower back, compelling my body closer to him, leaving nothing between us but bare skin, the electricity of his touch. _

When I hit the halfway mark for the second time, I give up; I toss the book onto the table.

_It's so hard to take a breath – to breathe and feel at the same time – I almost forget to do so. The entire length of him fills me, stretching me, causing my legs to tremble and my fingers to sink into the sinewy muscles of his back. He presses his forehead to my shoulder, exhaling, practically quivering with the exertion, struggling to hold himself up._

"_Bella," he groans, "I can't..."_

I rub my fingers over my lips, staring absently at the painting on the wall, the swirl of colours blending and mixing, creating something I can't recognize or focus on.

_I clutch the sheet in my fists, tightening my grip until I'm sure my knuckles are white and strained, until the pleasure of him being inside me overwhelms the cramp in my hands. He staggers kisses along my cheek and throat, breathing hard between pecks, groaning with each impressive plunge of his hips. With one hand, he braces himself against the headboard, resting the other near my shoulder, and I twist my leg around his calf, drawing it up the back of his thigh, provoking a deeper angle._

_Eliciting a feeling so consuming and intoxicating it makes me moan. _

_Loud._

_His lips quickly cover mine, and he whispers a laboured, "Shh," before he lets out a shaky laugh. "Really don't want my mom walking in on this."_

I smile, letting my fingers drift over my collarbone. They travel up, tracing the spot on my neck I've been attempting to hide the outrageous hickey he so willingly gave me in the heat of the moment; the one I so willingly let him give.

I'm so invested in my fantasy – my recollection – I barely register the opening and closing of the front door.

"Hey," Edward remarks, "what are you doing here all by yourself?"

After my eyes deglaze and fixate on the painting, what I've been apparently staring at, they find Edward. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold outside, and his auburn hair is a static mess, flattened to his forehead on one side, sticking up on the other. He smiles as he takes off his coat, and instead of answering, I watch him.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.

"You okay?" he asks, draping his jacket onto the coffee table. He slips in beside me on the couch, and with the shameless scenes of the night before running through my mind, I sit up, startling him with a ravenous kiss. I grip him by the collar of his shirt, tugging him down until I can feel the delicious pressure of his weight on top of me.

"Mmm," I murmur against his lips, "I'm great."

.

.

I stand at the bedroom window, and curl my arms around myself, looking out over the darkened city below, the streets that are dotted every so often with battery-powered lanterns. They're more or less vacant, trodden only by armed officers doing their hourly rounds, guns slung over the back of their shoulders; unused.

My eyes follow the line of the perimeter, the solid walls of the compound, until I can no longer see where the boundary ends and the night begins. Although nothing so far has been able to get through these walls, the threat of what _could, _the threat of walkers...it still haunts me.

Every day.

My mind wanders more often than I care to admit, conjuring up scenarios, infecting my thoughts with things I would pay to forget.

_I scrambled backward on my hands and feet, slipping, scraping my skin with every painful, scurried movement away from the walker. It persists toward me, its dilapidated hands groping for my feet, dragging the rest of its broken body along with it. I see the trail of blood and gore it leaves on the pristine, white floor in its wake, and then it begins bubbling, melting the tiles until there's nothing left but an ashy pit of nothingness._

_My eyes dart away from the dust and smoke, finding the eyes of the walker – dull...empty – and before I can do anything to stop it, the walker shifts; mutating and distorting, moaning in anguish. _

_Instead of a nameless, faceless creature, the thing begins to change. It twists its neck, looking back at me with the face of Jacob._

_It keeps crawling, and with the unexpected sobs wracking my body, I can barely keep up. I can barely get away._

_Suddenly, it changes again._

_This time it's Jasper._

_My arms give out, and it grabs hold of my ankle with the opportunity, stopping me, tugging me toward it._

_And then it changes._

_First into Emmett...then to Alice._

_The ache in my chest deepens, and I can no longer breathe – no longer think._

_It hovers over me, Alice's warped face changing again, showing me Esme, before it finally mutates into..._

I shake the dream from my thoughts, hating how real it felt, how the sight of their faces is ingrained in my mind. Seeing them like that, the people I love...undead...it was more than enough to scare me awake, and even upset me enough to go check on my family to make sure they were all still alive.

Still breathing.

I look back at Edward, sprawled out comfortably on the bed, his perfectly handsome face flushed with colour and life. I smile at his slumbering form, remembering our night together, the way he touched me, his soft and whispered words of affection, the barely audible confession of _I love you _echoing in the darkness.

I bite my lip, and tear my gaze away from him, looking out over the city instead, journeying past the compound walls and into the void of space beyond. Even though I know what's out there, I no longer dread it in the way I used to. Sure, the threat is still very real – the fear of invasion plagues me every day – but the lights I see below, the city I live in...it fills me with hope.

Hope that someday we can begin to rebuild something normal in this world, a life _we_ control. A life I can live that's not ruled by fear or uncertainty – one I can live with Edward.

I hear a rustling of sheets behind me, and turn slightly to the sight of Edward as he crawls out of bed, drowsy and stumbling; so humbly adorable I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. He pads over to me, and protectively drapes his arms around my waist, holding me against him while he rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Can't sleep?" he asks his voice groggy.

I place my hands over his and twine our fingers, shaking my head. "I had a nightmare," I confess, "it woke me up." I lean my entire body into him, yawning, "And then I started thinking about...things."

He gently kisses my shoulder, and rubs his hands over my stomach. "Things," he repeats, "good things I'm hoping?"

A single tear slips down my cheek, and I hastily brush it away. "Yeah," I tell him with a small smile, "it's hard to forget the bad things, but...there is so much I love about my life now." I twist in his arms, looking up into his eyes. "I think about all of it," I admit softly, "how life works, how I met all these wonderful people, how I...fell in love when everything seems so hopeless." I turn back around, gazing out the window again. "It makes me wonder if I ever would have met you," I continue in a near-whisper, "what my life would be like if this had never happened."

His soft lips meet my neck this time, and he sighs. "Those are the good things," he says in assurance, "the amazing things. Life rarely makes sense...and this? It's no different, it's chaotic and random, and to be honest, kind of incredible." His voice is deep and gritty, and I lose myself in it. "Like fate or something," he breathes in my ear, "I can't imagine you not being in my life now."

I smile, tilting my head to rest my cheek against his. "Me neither," I tell him.

We stand there for a long time, enjoying the silence, the peace and quiet that seems to spread out over the city. I follow Edward's train of thought, thinking about the remarkable things in my life – the people I love and want to live for – and not the things that make each day a struggle for us.

I want to think about the things that make me happy.

Eventually, once I'm almost sure Edward has fallen asleep on my shoulder, I murmur, "What happens now?"

With a soft exhale, Edward gathers me in his arms and carries me back to bed. "We live," he replies confidently, "and we don't think about what's out there every second of the day." He sets me down and climbs in next to me, cradling me close to him. "It will never be easy, Bella, but I don't want to waste all my energy on something I have no control over when I can spend my time with people I love instead. We make the best of each day."

I nestle my face into the crook of his neck, and hum in agreement. "You're right," I consent, "I just have to get used to it, I guess...learn to relax, maybe."

"I can help with that," he responds teasingly. I giggle when his hands lightly skim my arms, then the small sliver of exposed skin near my hip. I squirm briefly at his feather-light touches, settling only when he relents and simply holds me.

"Hey," he says softly, "I'm not sure if it's tomorrow yet or not, but..."

"What is it?" I prompt when he grows quiet.

"Merry Christmas, Bella."

I close my eyes; content.

"Merry Christmas, Edward."

THE END


End file.
